


By the Falling Leaves

by scarletcougar



Series: Seasons [1]
Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: A Heralds of Valdemar fanfiction series set during the Reign of King Kiril.Part 1-	By the Falling LeavesPart 2-	Seeing Beyond the SnowflakesPart 3-	Grey against Spring FlowersPart 4-	Sitting in Summer MoonlightThis is an alternating perspective story. Chapters will alternate 1st person and 3rd person.





	1. End of the Road

I came with knowledge and understanding of things I should not. They would think me mad. I left the Temple out East to follow a calling. I had been there long enough. The Temple of Light and Wisdom takes in charity cases, orphans, and lost souls. It is hard to say which I was. I suppose I was all three. The Temple is not in Valdemar proper, but on the edge of a tiny territory called Iflayallan, very mountainous with lots of small temples in obscure forgotten areas. The teachings of the Wisdom Schools are deep and diverse. Winters were often long and hard.

I learned martial arts, healing, meditation, divination, language, math (which I hated), music (which proved horrific at), womanly arts (as many called such things as cooking and cleaning and mending), cultivating (mostly herbs and teas). It was quiet and challenging. I could speak maybe five or six languages when I finally reached the age of 20: Iflayallan, Iftellan, Hardornan, Valdemaran, Trade Common, and I was working on a dialect of a people east of Iflayallan. They called themselves the Irjopans and it was by far the most complicated language next to the many dialects of the Hawk Brothers.

It was in meditation with one of the master monks that I somehow tapped into my past lives. I was flooded then by visions and knowledge. The experience so severe, I woke a week later when my screaming had stopped. The one image that remained clear, so clear I could hardly think of anything else, was that is a white mare with blue eyes and silver hooves standing in a starry pool of dark water under the moonlight. The monk then told me the Moon Goddess had appeared to me to tell me it was time I left. It was time to find my place in the world because we all knew it somehow was just not here. Sometimes a man must walk his own path, one not traveled by another before him.

I started on the road, with a heavy pack of supplies. It was the height of Summer and perfect for traveling. I traveled westward into Valdemar, the country of the legendary white horses of the Moon Goddess. I wondered where the road would end. I wondered if there was a Temple of Light in Valdemar. I wondered why I needed to be there. No amount of meditating on my journey revealed the tiniest scrap of an answer. The easiest part of this journey was putting one foot in front of the other. The hardest… were the seizures I suffered coming randomly usually. This was the condition I had been born with that made me both a charity case and an orphan. I leaned heavily on the walking stick to easy the pains of the injury I took in a fall as I had made my way down the mountain.  One foot in front of the other…. Until I reach the end of the road.

Finally I did.

Exhausted and travel-worn, well fed up of chaotic inns on the road (enough that I chose to sleep alone outside), I reached the end. The end of the road was a huge gate to a city larger than I could have ever imagined. I could see a hill beyond that revealed a palace and structures too difficult to make out at this distance. I looked up at the name above the gate: Haven.


	2. The Lie & The Truth

It was all a lie. Everything. Just the dreams upon dreams they come with manifestation. This was not Haven. Leaves and broken branches chattered the muddy ground. A backpack dangled hooked from a splintered branch. One of the two shoulder straps had torn. Some of the contents spilled out and were being examined by a raven who equally considered the broken man bleeding in the mud.

Awareness came in snippets and flashes. _Must go to Haven._ That was a strong thought with the image of the gates of the city. A city of Valdemar. That knowledge stuck. Bits and pieces of the memories of a temple in Iflayallan. Scraps of languages. Vague notions of visions and seizures. Wasn’t there supposed to be a journey? Manifesting usually caused some disorientation, but the memory of the lie of one’s background should have been implanted before manifesting in the world. Yes, that memory was there, filtering up in fragments between the aches of each taken breath. It shouldn't hurt this much. There was a manifestation once where the dark forces of the world has a very good seer who knew of the arrival and the manifestation ended swiftly upon arrival with a couple blades to the gut and a metal projectile… a bullet… to the head. Manifestations like that were rare.

_Go to Haven… you will be safe there._

The man inhaled swiftly. Pain blacked him out a second later. The next 24 hours were a hellish struggle to get the backpack down and see what supplies he had, to drag himself to the brisk flowing little stream nearby, to assess his injuries and do what he can to wash them and stitch them so he did not bleed to death. This was the longest 24hrs he had ever had in all the lifetimes of manifesting he had ever experienced. He passed out often from the pain. Or, he howled when the seizures came and undid some of what he tried to heal with the field medicine he remembered from a previous life. It is not like the stories. Doing this healing to yourself is NOT as easy as it sounds in those.

“AHHHH!!! I AM A MAN!!!” The raven flew off at the startled yelling.

This was a first for him to manifest as a man. Every time the goddess he served had put him into the world, it was as a woman. His very first incarnation, having been born and before dedicating his soul to the goddess, was that of a girl. Female. Discovering that this time the manifestation was into the form of a man was extremely shocking. Did he need to be a man to be here and do the task he was sent for? What task was needed? That memory was not there. Hopefully it would come soon. It was very hard to think through the constant pain. He needed a name. A man’s name apparently. “Avery.” That was the name he chose and repeated it a few times to lock it into his memory. “I am Avery… I need to get to Haven…” He blacked out yet again.

When he woke next, he was on a raised cot. The mattress was stuffed well and soft, but he did not know with what. It was on a small wooden box frame. An older woman appeared at the end of the cot. “Be still,” she said. She pressed and pulled. Bones went crunch and pop. Avery yelled and yelled and passed out.

The days moved into a whole week, then two, before Avery was calm and coherent enough to speak. The weeks were full of pain, being fed and cleaned, seizures, and visions the ripped through his mind of hunters in various stages of dying being healed in this very hut. The older woman muttered in frustration and tied cotton pouches over Avery’s hands. “There. Stop seeing and stop screaming and stop flailing or you will never heal. That is one very loud gift you have. It must be new. I hope a companion comes for you soon and sorts you out.”

“M-my name is Avery. I must go to Haven.” His voice sounded deeper than he expected. Husky and harsh from being roughened with the screams. “Why… what have you done to me?”

“I saved your life. Thank me later when you can walk out of here. Your hands are covered because your gift seems to only work through your hands. You see things when you touch them with your hands. I got tired of hearing you screaming about the things you saw of what happened in here every time you touched something.” She sat on a stool and spoon fed him thick stew as she continued explaining. “I reset your shoulder. It was pulled a bit from the socket. I stopped the bleeding and more properly stitched what needed stitching, cauterized what needed that. Your head… well, I am not certain what sort of crazy you are, but that might be because of the fall. You fell quite a far fall from the goat track, right off the cliff. It is amazing you survived at all. Your leg… well… I have done what I can, but your knee is wrecked bad. It is too far to the nearest town to get a true healer to you. Dragging you hear was almost more than I could do. And some of the healing I did was along the way so you didn’t just bleed out in the grass outside.” The bowl was empty by the time she was done explaining. “A thank you for your life would be nice, but I would rather see you on your feet before you thank me.”

There was the truth… gifted of visions and cursed with seizures…. And crippled from a very long and terrible fall. The lie that was implanted by the goddess was not going to work now. Avery heaves a sigh unsure what to do now. The desire to weep was very strong. The grey-haired older woman pressed a soft cloth to his face. She seemed so strong for her age, and far more gentle than her words and voice sounded.

“You will live and you will walk again by the time I am done with you. Maybe not walk well, but you will walk.” She handed him a bitter drink that a too sweet aftertaste. “That will dull the pain. We will get you moving more tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Avery needed to properly sort out the truth and the lie and… himself.


	3. Legend of Nona Bayel

Now I really had more time than I wanted to think about this new persona. This new incarnation. Who I am and who I am supposed to be. Also, my mission. I come into a world by the divine dropping me whole and adult for a purpose. What was this purpose?

The story in my memory. The lie I was to use will not work now. How did I know? Well, that persona was supposed to be well versed in lots of languages. Try as I might, I only knew the one it seemed. I had snippets of other languages learned in other incarnations, but nothing native to this world except… Valdemaran. Valdamaran! No… taking stock of myself. I will deal with the impossibilities in a moment. Who am I to talk about impossibilities. No one would ever believe the truth of me, an impossibility.

So I need a new story. Who am I? Why am I here?

“A philosopher maybe?” asked the old woman caring for my wounds. “You are asking great existential questions.”

I buried my face in my palm.

I took a deep breath as I heard her leave the small hut. I looked at my hands, mittened in flannel pouches so I could not touch anything directly. I have an ability, a gift. It felt a great deal more like a wild curse at the moment. The old woman had said newly awakened gifts can be like that. I had to learn self-control. I can have self-control… except when I am having a seizure, or in too much pain to think clearly. I took another breath. No, I was trained to reign myself in. I might not be able to stop a seizure, but I can force myself to cope with and think through pain. Center first. Find the core of me within myself. Ground myself next, connect to and anchor myself in the earth. From there anything within me is mostly possible. I can focus, and think through a mind ability. It is like a wild superpower. Mind magic. I have seen this in other worlds, but never before actually had one. I wasn’t ready yet to test my self-control with this “gift”, so I left the mittens on.  

I left the mittens on and refocused to my body. Male. That was new. I had never manifested as a man before. I lifted the blanket and the edge of my pants just to look. Yup, male alright. A terrible thought skipped through my filthy mind of giving myself a hand job. I was curious how that felt. The old woman came in and set a pot on the stove with water, shoved some wood onto the coals and walked out again. Nope, too embarrassing and risky to get caught trying. Besides, with my luck right now, it would cause me a seizure. Maybe I couldn’t even get it up, let alone reach a climax, because of these injuries.

So, taking stock of my body. The shoulder ached mildly. I must have pulled or dislocated it and she fixed that. My back ached, but I did fall through a ton of trees then hit the ground. My right hip hurt. But worst of all was the right leg, still splinted and heavily bandaged. The old woman said I would be able to walk again eventually, but not likely well. I wiggled the toes at the end of the bandaged right leg. Sharp stabs of pain sent me into a panting sweat. I needed to get mobile again soon. I am not dead, and… I still have a purpose. Or did me being crippled now make my mission a failure?

The next couple weeks forced me onto my feet, walking with the help of holding onto EVERYTHING. I had to sit to piss. I kept moving under her watchful eyes. I ate her food. I endured her painful prodding. I clung to her and wept when I thought I could no longer cope. By the end of the two weeks, I saw my bag empty and all the contents neatly arranged. The old woman was rifling through my money pouch. “Keep it,” I said without thinking. “You saved my life and put up with me for almost three months.”

“I only want this.” She held up a very fine ruby. “I like this.” I watched her wet some clay she stored to make small jars with. She used the clay and pressed the ruby into a wall that was like a mosaic of stones, coins, rings, ribbons and other strange things.

Puzzled, I had to ask, “What is that?” I never really noticed it in all the time I had been here recovering.

“Something from every life I have saved, my penance for not being able to save my own son’s life.”

I remembered his grave outside from one of my short walks around the cottage. I looked down at my hands, no longer mittened. I was learning to be careful about what I touched, but I knew that would be hard when I eventually leave here. She dropped two pairs of soft leather gloves in my hands, grey-green… that color that was all and no colors all at once. I stared at them disbelieving. The fingers were cut halfway. But, what had me most stunned was that I recognized them, from another life. They were not of this world. Maybe they were in my bag and traveled with me? I pulled on one pair.

“You are strong enough. It is time for you to go.” At her words, I automatically looked in a direction that was relatively northward, where something pulled at my soul. “Haven is your destination, Avery. Pack and take the path, stay right. It will lead you to a little village with a small inn. Find the main road north and go to Haven. It is time.”

She was right. I had been here more than long enough. “I may not be your son… but… I have no family here. May… may I take your family name?” This too was tactical, but… also very deeply emotional. I still felt lost and confused and without any roots or anchors.

I watches tears moisten her eyes. “I am Nona Bayel. Yes, you may have my name. There is a piece of folded vellum on the desk and … a ring. Take them to the Heritage Administration in Haven for me?”

I hobbled over and easily found the items she mentioned. They were old and dusty, tied firm and sealed with wax. Likely the final taxes and notices. Why in Haven and not locally? Maybe a Herald doesn’t come by here very often. Her favor was so small. “Of course I will. And if you need of anything… anything at all. And if not… I will try to come back and visit if I can.” I knew that was unlikely, but she gave me so much, I would promise to at least try.

“Go!” she ordered “Before I weep, go!” She hurried out the door. “And don’t touch the wall!”

She didn’t need to warn me of that. Every life she saved was represented on that wall. That meant I would see every horror of agony that brought those people to her door and the hardships of them in their recoveries. I did not need the intensity of that. I was already fairly grateful for no seizures in the last 24 hours. Did Valdemar use hours?

Valdemar… I packed my bag. Everything I would need to travel and blend in. I horse would be handy. Then again, likely not. How the hell would I get into the saddle, let alone ride? To Haven… Ok… for the record, I am officially freaked out. I am in a fucking STORYBOOK! THAT had never happened. Theoretically, I suppose, it could and so now has. Valdemar… The place from a very large series of novels I once read. At least this world is familiar to me in some ways. I took the stick I had been using to help me walk. Not an ideal tool for the purpose, but it would have to do. I had a long way to go… to Haven, the capital of Valdemar, where the palace was and Herald and Companion central.

The old woman met me along the path and shoves some jerky into my pockets, and coin, like grandmothers do. Well, usually they put in sweets and coins, but jerky was far more useful. “You are gifted, Avery. You probably feel you need to be there because you will get Chosen.”

That made perfect sense. If I were gifted and intended to have a mission then being Chosen would put me automatically into the role I would naturally have come here to do. Then I thought about the seizures… and my leg… “And what if I am not?” I could not help the anxious dread that squeezed my chest as I asked my question.

“Then you live as if you have, as if you were Chosen and your Companion died in that fall from which you survived. You live by the mores of a Herald and help those you can when you come across them. You be where Heralds cannot.”

I hugged her as I would have my own wise grandmother.

Center, Avery. Ground, Avery. One foot at a time down the path, Avery. Your mission calls. Whatever the mission is, it calls.

It was late when I got to the inn. I ached and was starving. The bit of coin in my pocket paid for a room and some food. I ate in the common room to listen to the storyteller entertaining the guests. He wasn’t a true bard in scarlets, but he was good at telling tales.

“This last tale, is that of the Legend of Nona Bayel. You all know it. The banshee ghost up in the haunted woods. Killer of trespassers, or healer of the rare few. This is the story of she who has walked those woods since before King Valdemar founded this country…”

I forgot to breathe.


	4. Starting Out

The next morning was the bad start to a bad journey.

Avery woke on the floor of his inn room, tangled in his blanket. “Another seizure…” He groaned and grumbled as he untangled himself. The ghostly tale the night before made as much sense to him as his own story would sound to anyone here. His shoulder thudded against the wall as he leaned with poor balance to look out the window at the rising sun. The biological clock that ensured he woke at dawn seemed to follow from life to life, incarnation to incarnation.

As he dressed, he pondered his current reality. Valdemar, used to be just a fantastic series of stories. So why was he here? Why was he called to Haven? Why was the first imprinted tale wrong? Too many questions. The only fact was the strong sense to keep moving and get to Haven. The answers had to be there. At least it was too early in the morning for most of the patrons to think about being awake. It meant he could take his time struggling down the stairs. Avery decided hated stairs. This was Valdemar, there had to be other options. Better inns with a ground floor room? Farms willing to take in a crippled traveler? Barns no one would check late at night or early in the morning? Waystations! There should be those too in Valdemar. Those were supposed to be reserved for Heralds only. There were criminal charges for using one without permission, or were there? It was all speculation. He left coin to pay for his room with the innkeep’s assistant at the bar, glad he came into this world understanding the money system.

Speaking of speculation, Avery had no clue what year it was. Who was the ruler of the time? Was there actual magic? Or just mind gifts? From the storyteller last night, King Valdemar lived centuries ago. But, was that three centuries of ten? Who ruled now? A king? A queen? Normally Avery would know these things coming into a world. But these were giant holes. Maybe he suffered permanent memory loss from the fall, a result of knocking his head, or something.

Standing outside, leaning on the stick he used to help him walk, Avery debated returning to the cottage in the woods. He wanted to confirm his own experiences against the story last night. Then he remembered! He dug into his pockets and found the old sealed letter with the ring tied to it. That was real. Therefore Nona Bayel was real. Maybe she was a real ghost. Did it matter? She healed him as opposed to killing him. Avery was willing to take his blessing where he found them at the moment. At least the dark forces of this world were not gunning for him… yet. Gunning might not be an appropriate term. There were no guns in Valdemar. He wondered still if he was a target… or someone else. Was that the mission? That was usually the mission. Get to the rendezvous. Find the target. Protect the target… or die trying.

Avery hated dying. Dying really sucked as an experience. You never got to come back to try to salvage the mission.

“Hey, you there,” Avery called to the stablehand. The tall young man turned and scrubbed straw colored hair. “Ya, you. Excuse me, but… how far is Haven from here?” Avery limped forward a pace or two.

The straw-headed stablehand looked Avery up and down. He had to think carefully about how to answer the man before him. If the man was noble or not mattered in how to address them. Nobles wouldn’t use hey or ya, so he this stranger was a commoner, small for a man standing at five and a half feet at best with a slight build. The dark stubble ensured it was a man and not a boy questioning him. “Uh, by horse or cart?”

“By foot.”

“No one goes that far by foot. It would take like month, more with your crippled leg. And it is fall already. You might not get there before there is snow.”

Avery sighed, leaning on his tall walking stick. “I’ll try to catch a cart now and then. Any chance you know any heading northward from here?” Disappointment was annoying; the stablehand had shaken his head. “Thanks anyways.”

This was going to be a long walk.


	5. On the Road

Fall in the south of Valdemar still felt like summer. All warm and green. It made for a pleasant walk, even if I had to take it at a snail’s pace. Somehow, instinct kept me pointed relatively northward. Well, so did some of the larger roads. This trade route was blessedly simple to follow and would eventually reach the river to the main North Trade Route. I only had some difficulties when the road took me through little villages which were small spider webs with no real pattern for its roads. Or, when I had to leave the main roads to seek out an inn.

Villages were generally small and folk were mostly kind enough to take pity on a “crippled” traveller. I did my best to be helpful and not a burden to those who gave me a meal and place to sleep that was not outside (especially if it were raining). Inns were less forgiving. They tended to be more expensive, very crowded, and… stairs… they always had stairs to get to the rooms. I decidedly HATE stairs. And crows. Crowds meant I got jostled a great deal, or rocked by stupid visions for everything I touched. Thanks the heavens for the fingerless gloves or I would have brutal seizures with every contact and fierce vision. I still got seizures, but only a couple times a day or just in the night. Annoying things about being jostled at inns was the occasional robber who thinks I am easy to rob. They piss me off. I educate them with a firm restraint till they are on their knees begging I do not break their fingers or wrist. Good thing my training stuck with me through everything. I need my belongings. This is all I have. It must get me to Haven and must be enough to get me established till I find my mission, why I am called there.

My training dictated:

  1. Know your backstory
  2. Plot your route and destination
  3. Figure out your mission
  4. Blend in, become part of the community
  5. Make allies
  6. Do the mission, survive for it, die for it



Well, my original backstory was mostly useless. So here is the new one. I am Avery Bayel. I am a learned man. I have martial and arms training. I was released from duty because of the condition I suffer, the seizures. I am not sure if I can call it epilepsy. Do they understand that term? In need of food, I went hunting and fell. Now, I am obviously crippled as there was no gifted healer to help me, but am ever so grateful for the old woman who did save my life. I woke gifted. Some kind of wild gift of seeing visions about things I touch. The more intense the _seeing_ the more likely I am to have a serious seizure. I also woke with this intense need to travel north to Haven. This _call_ is so strong that I am following it and hoping to understand what it means and what I am supposed to do. What can I do with this … condition and permanent injury? It is hard not to feel discouraged.  Some of this backstory is rather weak. I will have to stay vague if asked anything. Although, telling people my name seems to elicit the odd reaction of seeing a ghost made flesh and few press me further. There must be more to that tale of Nona Bayel, but I have no idea how to find out… except to ask the bards at Bardic Collegium in Haven or magically gain access to the royal library and archives.

Is my mission already a failure? Will I get to Haven in time for… whatever?

Haven. That was the destination. The route… whatever road gets me there. The instinctual pull keeps me going. The helpful Valdemarans guide me when I get uncertain or just need reassurance that I am still traveling towards Haven.

The why was still a mystery. I had no clue what my mission was. Am I supposed to protect someone? Am I supposed to preserve a temple? Am I to lend supposed to someone or a ruler of some kind? Who was even king? Am I to find a relic or sacred text and keep it safe? These are things I had done in past lifetimes. Usually my mission became clear in my mind within a few days of arriving. Did I miss that information because I was unconscious or too injured? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? Why am I _called_ to Haven? I really hope things become clear when I get there.

So for now, blend in. Be Valdemaran. Help people wherever I am and accept aid when it is offered. Make allies. This last I was saving really for when I get to Haven because I was not likely to see any of these people I pass again.

Once I know what the mission is, what my purpose for being here is, then I can do the mission.

For now… I walk… and walk and walk and walk. I am sure getting my fucking exercise! Speaking of exercise, I try to stretch and make sure I am not overcompensating and stressing other parts of me because of the limping. Sometimes on the road in the nice weather, I step off and sleep outside in the field or the woods. By the way… it is COLD doing that and not ideals this time of year. However, it also gave me time to try to move through the martial moves I knew and make sure I at least could do them, and know which ones I could not do, thus troubleshoot how to defend myself despite those problems. I worked with the stick too. It was far from a decent quarterstaff or anything, but would have to suffice. Sometimes I worked out moves with my boot knife. At least this helped keep me warm.

Sometimes I just walked and leaned heavily on the walking stick. I tried hard not to hate either my condition or my injured state. Four weeks on the road I finally came to that bridge I was told about. I stood on the west side of the bridge over a large river. I thought hard to try to remember the name of this big river. Tyraly? Tiralee? Yes, that was it. The Tiralee. On the other side of the bridge was the South Trade Road that went mostly straight north to Haven.

So far my journey had taken me from a very craggy area just north of Condor city where I fell off the crag cliff in the forest. It seemed so mountainous. I suppose that is just perspective from one laying at the bottom of a craggy fall. I had hiked through the Jaysong Hills and through all the little villages and farms along the way. It was tempting to skip west to see Crescent Lake and its city, but I am not a tourist. I endured the busy inn of Victrin City and then a far too expensive inn on the edge of Herald’s Hill. Three Rivers was just north of this but the crossing there was by ferry and would cost too much. So I walked east till I got to the bridge over the Tiralee. That by the way looks like a very short trip from Herald’s Hill over the bridge. LIES! It took me two days to get to the bridge and then more than an hour to cross it.

Another three days eastward brought me to one of the largest inns in Valdemar, The Dog Inn. It was almost like a small city unto itself! Wagons and stables clustered all around the back of it. The building was HUGE and stood five full stories tall. Most buildings in Valdemar were two-story buildings at best with the rare estates and forts standing three stories. I could hear barking and howls from a collection of kennels much farther back. The reputation here that gave the inn its name was for the breeding kennels for hunting dogs and guard dogs. That actually belonged to some noble family who handled much of that market and who hosted hunts in the forest nearby for those staying longer at the Dog Inn. It was by far the busiest inn I had seen thus far on this long journey. I stood outside staring up at the sign as one of the dogs that roamed the area freely came over to lick my hand and beg for pettings, trying to coax me into the inn. Good thing I am not also allergic to dogs to add to my frustrations.

I patted the dog and continued to ponder. It was noon. I wondered if I could just make it to the next town instead. Kettlesmith it was, according to the travelers debating that same thing I was.

“Oy… You there. Is too busy here fer usses and likes too busy fer yous too. Wants a lift onna back o’our wagon? We’re agoin’ to Kettlesmith. If we push them horses some, we’ll get there in the night.”

I could have kissed them both! “By the moon and sun, you are my saving grace. Yes please.”

The ride was a hard and bumping six or seven hours where it started to drizzle cold and miserably for the last hour of it. We were all very soaked by the time we reached Kettlesmith in the dark. I advised hot baths for us all and offered to pay for them as a thank you for saving me four days of hiking. None of us needed to be sick from the drenching. The inn here was much quieter and had no second floor, just a large sprawling network of randomly connected buildings to make up the inn. Water for our baths was very hot indeed, heated by the forges that butted against the perimeter of the inn. There were many other forges in the village, I had heard. But that was for later exploration. Baths and sleep were needed first.

I think I am getting used to the small annoying seizures and the many small visions from all the things my fingertips touch. I woke having had a decent enough sleep all things considered. There was an extra kindness from who know who of another hot bath in the morning. Apparently some herald was traveling thru here and told the innkeepers to give extra hot baths to anyone who arrived in the rain last night. The crown covered the cost on this as a preventive measure against illness. The rain had stopped before dawn broke and the herald was already up and long gone, so I could not thank him.

Outside, it was muddy with frosty edges on everything. The sun over the day would warm everything up nicely. Kettlesmith had a lot to offer. It was a bustling little town of craftsmen. I explored the town at my own pace and chose to stay a second night at the wonderfully flat inn. I found all manner of smiths and forges. I found an apothecary with a tiny healing house attached. I also found gem merchants and a cartographer. These last two were to most needed right now.

First stop was the gem merchant. I needed coin. I was down to one silver and a couple coppers, but I had a pouch full of excellent gems and gold and silver nuggets worth a small fortune. I traded him a couple gems for a goodly amount of coin that I hoped would be enough to get me to Haven. I also scanned the much cheaper stones, liking the tumbled smooth ones. An Idea lit my mind. I am a _SEER!_ I could absolutely use gemstones as a medium for divination and ply myself as a fortune teller to earn coin if I really needed to. Part of me felt very selfish for doing what I was about to do. I loved gemstones. I little gift to myself would help my morale and keep me going. DECIDED! I bought about 20 stones all polished and tumbled smooth, though none were truly round. Amethyst, carnelian, obsidian, citrine, jasper, mossy tree agate, rose quartz, jade, hematite, amber, sodalite, moonstone, turquoise, tiger`s eye, quartz, bloodstone, malachite, garnet, howlite, lapis lazuli, aventurine, fluorite, amazonite, aquamarine, blue lace agate, rhodochrisite, sun stone, granite (yes I was looked at funny what I wanted the plain stone), and a polished piece of shell. They all fit into a pouch I could hold in one hand (though better held in two hands). It was a bit of an expense, but I told myself that I could make it back. I hoped I could.

Some hot pocket pies filled with beef and gravy filled my belly for lunch.

The cartographer was the next stop for maps. I was only able to get a general map of Valdemar and not one of Haven. Ì got Kettlesmith, Tindale, Sweet Springs, Three Rivers… all out of Haven. You can get one from the guard in one of the guard stations or the gatehouse in Haven though.” That was mighty helpful, I will remember that for when I reach Haven.

The remainder of my afternoon was spent at the apothecary and healing house. I got salves for aches, bandages and other supplies I considered useful for personal first aid. Also a good amount of willowbark tea and a jar of honey. She had mint essential oil! That would be a good addition to my travel kit. Thinking of my seizures, I asked about cannabis essence. Took us some puzzling together till we figured out it was called Spiked Dog plant. There she got rather offended that I should ask for such a controlled drug. Why on earth would I want something that made me both high and mellow. She did not deal in recreational medicines. I had to explain my condition to her and that I heard that an extremely pure and clear essence of this herb could help without the highs, mellows, or addictive effects. I wanted to mitigate my seizures, not be a glassy-eyed drug addict. At least she heard me out and didn’t just throw me from her shop as other apothecaries had on this journey.

“See the healer,” she said firmly. “I cannot give you such a narcotic without a legal prescription from a Master Healer. It is a controlled substance. And I only have the herb. Such an extract as you are seeking does not exist.”

I sighed. No, the herb will leave me not in control of myself. I don’t want that. I did agree to see the resident healer. Maybe he could do something to help me in some way? OUCH! It cost me three silver coins to see him. That felt like highway robbery. Especially considering that he confirmed that he could do nothing more for my knee or other already healed wrong injuries. He chided me for not seeing a proper healer at the time of the injury. I explained that there was not one available. As for the seizures, he could not do anything about those either. “See a mind healer when you get to Haven. Maybe one of them can help you. It is just not my expertise, especially with such an active gift center.” I thanked him, but three silvers for nothing but confirmations to what I already knew hurt financially.

A true frost hit that night. The following days and weeks would see the leaves change colors to orange, red and brown. Fall colors indeed. The wind would pick up before long. I prayed I could make it to Haven before the snow arrived.

I didn’t….


	6. Of Heralds & Waystations

Two weeks was the estimated time to hobble his way to Haven from Kettlesmith. He really had hoped make it to Haven before the first snow. Before leaving, he managed to buy a good thick notebook with a bottle of ink and a quill with a metal nib. It was the first purchase he had made by bartering. He offered to do a seeing for the merchant and if he had done well then he would like these things and a leather or oiled canvas wrap to protect the journal while traveling. Protect it from the horrid chill rains that sometimes came this time of year and the eventual snow he dreaded getting stuck in. He spent an hour telling the man tidbits of all sorts of things, then eventually reading from a little lock of hair the man had. That almost gave him a seizure. The lock of hair was from man’s daughter who had died as a small child from an accident with a frightened horse. I could see the incident, the details, but also get the child’s last thoughts and memories. How much she was happy her father came for her; how much she loved him. He cried on the shop counter as Avery offered his condolences. He handed Avery two journals and everything he had asked for. As he left, a hand trailing the spines of books closest to the door, Avery advised the merchant that his daughter was back. The man looked up in shock. Avery’s fingers trailed over the binding of a clothbound book the man’s wife had stitched. “Your wife… she’s pregnant with a daughter. She isn’t yet sure if she is pregnant, but she is. She went to see the healer after making this book. Have a wonderful day, master craftsman.” Avery left in case he had to witness another outburst of manly tears.

He did not, however, make it to Haven before snow fell.

At about the midway point between Kettlesmith and Haven, the first flakes fluttered to coat the richly colored fall leaves with a thin layer of white. Avery hunkered in his new winter clothes he also bartered for in Kettlesmith along with warm boots. Good thing. Those light flakes grew thicker and soon the surroundings vanished in a whiteout of falling snow. If he could ride and had a horse (he knew how to ride but was too afraid his injuries would not allow him in… or out of the saddle), he would already be in Haven… three or so days after leaving Kettlesmith. The smaller roadside inn he had just passes was maybe eight hours behind him, too far to get back to before night descended.

He sighed heavily and with dread. Overnighting in this weather, in this cold, would only end in death by hypothermia by morning. He would freeze to death. It wasn’t the worst way to die, but was not his preference at the moment. He squinted into the whiteness. He could not see the road, nor any farms. It was just forest and white falling snow. His frustration billowed out his mouth in a puff of white mist. His mind started running through the list of survival techniques for this terrain, the actions he must take in his circumstances to get through the night. First was to find (not happening) or make (likely) some kind of shelter. Snow insulates if you build it thick. A small fire could save his life. If he could find the forest and some sticks, build a lean-to, bury it in snow, start a small fire… if… if… if… if it did not draw the attention of cold brigands. He let out another heavy sigh.

This time the hot air billowed not just in front of him but all around his head and heating the back of his neck. A horse snorted behind him causing his nerves to jump. He spun to be nose to nose with a moon white steed. Avery lowered his eyes to see silvery hooves. He forgot to breathe and waited out the small seizure. There was not the sound of bells he expected of a companion about to make a Choosing. Was this a Companion before him? He looked up to see sapphire blue eyes. A snow dream? The silence stretched in his moment of disbelieving awe. This was the divine made physical. This was something out of a novel, a tale… here in reality. He doubted what he saw.

“Oy! Heyla traveller,” called the Companion’s rider.

Avery’s heart sank with his shoulders. Someone else’s Companion.

The herald called again, “Heyla. We will both freeze if we just stand here. At your pace, you’ll never make it to the next inn before dark. Fallow me. You can overnight with me in a waystation. Faleen assures me there is a waystation here even if it is not on my map.” He dismounted because this would take a very careful picking thru the woods beside the road.

Avery followed closely, using his staff for balance and to check the footing before he stepped.

“I’m Darius. This is Faleen, my Companion. We’re on our way back to Haven. Finished an investigation and need to hurry back, so I will likely be gone before dawn.” His voice carried well in the snowstorm, easy and comforting and vaguely familiar to Avery like a forgotten dream or a memory.

“Avery… Avery Bayel,” Each step took much of his concentration. “Going to Haven for answers.”

“Answers? To what?”

“No offense Herald, save it till we get there.” Avery didn’t mean to be so curt, but he had started to ache badly and could feel the vague fuzz that warns of a coming bad seizure. He didn’t want it in the snow.

The waystation was both well-hidden and well-overgrown, but it offered shelter for both men and companion. There was less snow as the trees shielded them some. The Herald gazed skeptically at the structure, “I hope you are right about this, Faleen. Clearly this one doesn’t get used anymore. Yes yes, I know because there are inns and such now. But in a snowstorm, getting to an inn would not have been safe to attempt, nor one I was comfortable with. Hey! I am NOT a spoiled prat.”

He led her into the side stable to feed her and blanket her for the night. Avery headed inside before the herald could even tell him to. Avery’s goal was to get a fire started as soon as he could. The waystation was far from ideal, but the roof did not leak and the wind did not get in. Avery left his boots and backpack by the door and hung his coat on a peg he thought would not hold. He was impressed at the sturdiness of this abandoned waystation. The cot would need a bedroll on top of it. The wood was just barely enough to get them through the night, and was blessedly dry. He felt the first tremors in his hands. A thought flitted through his mind that he ought to lie down before he falls, but the thought was never completed. All he manages was to not be close to walls, furniture, or the door.

Herald Darius let out a yell of surprise as he stepped in and saw his guest seizing on the floor. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea how long Avery has been having this seizure. It was fierce and terrifying. He thought the man was about to die. And then it was over. Avery panted like a man who has run a mile at his fastest without stopping. As the breaths lengthened and evened out, Avery groaned and mumbled something that sounded like an apology. “What… just… happened?” asked the stunned herald.

“I… have a… condition. Seizures… sorry… They pass. I’ll be fine. Just need rest.” The explanation came out broken and with an exhausted voice, but Avery had it down by heart for having explained so many times along his journey northward.

It bothered Darius that there was something intensely familiar about this man, stirring in him a need to know more and to care. Not really trusting the cot, he set up their bedrolls on the floor. He helped Avery onto one and covered him with the driest cloak till he could get the fire going. ::I know I need to sleep, because I need to be on my way before dawn, but Faleen, I feel like I know him. Why did I know to run in for him? Did he project? Am I developing some new gift? Who is he?:: He trusted mindspeech with his Companion to help him. Meanwhile, he trusted his gift to do what it could. In a little notebook, he took down all the details he could of their meeting, of this incident. This man’s name and what little he learned from the minimal conversation they had. What this man looked like. Small framed, maybe five and a half feet tall. Darius smoothed away loose dark curls that had escaped the wolf tail, then noted down this detail of color and texture. The stubbly growth of a couple days gave Avery a very rugged and almost unkept look. Familiar. He was so damned familiar!

::Dearheart,:: Faleen’s sweet feminine voice mindspoke back, ::I wish I knew. I will think on it. Get some sleep.::

Darius nipped out again to finish caring for Faleen before retiring for the night on his own bedroll. She had prodded his mind away before dawn. He was very, very tired. Avery had had a few more smaller seizures in the night but did not wake from them. They woke Darius, however, who distressed over them. The man seemed at peace and asleep when Darius quietly packed up to go. But… he desperately wanted to know more about this stranger.

::You are an investigative herald. He is not your mission right now. You need to get back to the king and king’s own with your report about the mines Trainee Mags came from. There needs to be a full intervention and soon. Look into this Avery after. He’s going to Haven. He will be there eventually.:: Of course his companion would be both practical and wise.

Darius hung Avery’s cloak on the only peg by the fireplace. He then set the boots close to the fire. This way both will be warm and dry by the time Avery woke. The last dry log went onto the almost dying coals. He was gone long before the sun came up, snow still falling lightly.

When Avery woke not much past dawn, he found himself alone in the little rundown waystation. Did last night actually happen? Was it all just a dream? The herald? The companion? Maybe they were just visions confused with reality from touching things in the neglected waystation. It was impossible to know after a bad seizure.

The little log had not lasted well; the fire was down to coals and starting to cool. He bundled and checked his pack, then gathered some snow and smothered the coals before scraping them. He lived by a policy of leaving a place better than you found it. He did his best here, giving the place a quick clean and fetching any cut wood and stray sticks he could manage to carry in. It was not many, but it would get a fire going for the next desperate man seeking shelter. There were no stores or supplies here to make sure vermin were not interested.

Time for himself to leave. He wanted to make it to the next inn before nightfall. The snow had stopped and the sky was clearing. What had fallen and covered the ground buries any trace of his own passage or the possible passage of the imaginary herald. Something about that herald made Avery’s heart ache and feel lonely. He chalked it up to having been travelling alone for so long. At least the path through the trees was fairly clear and the sun was already warning and melting the snow, making it wet and sticky and thick and heavy. Not easy for him to walk through. There was much grumbling, growling, and cursing by the time he got to the main road. And again, more when he reached the inn to find it insanely busy… and with stairs. Stairs! Both to just into the inn and to the rooms for the guests.


	7. At the Gate

Luck… or pity… got me a ride on the back of a hay cart to the next inn. I could see the walls of Haven in the distance, and the hint of a hill with a palace. I expected higher walls? Regardless, I was saved says of hiking! The warm weather returned and melted everything. So, the last leg of my journey would be in the warmth of late fall weather, surrounded by the beauty of autumn colored leaves. Jittery, excited, fizzy feelings filled me. I wanted to be there NOW! The walking was easier, but time consuming, grateful for the staff that supported me with the bad leg.

The sun started to set… and I was still not there. I trudged as things darkened till I noticed a fork in the road. The moon was light enough to see my map, so I dug it out to figure out where I should go from here. Night was fast falling. According to the map and the pace I walk, the road forking to the left led to a large inn, the last before the city, and almost a day away. That was too far to hike at the moment. I needed to consider resting the night before travelling on. The road forking right was much smaller, more like a path. It looked well trodden and led to a waystation. I knew they were meant only for heralds. I think there are laws against using one and its supplies if you are not a herald. Fines or something likely.

Too late to head for that last inn, I turned and took the smaller path to the right. It wound a bit and over a tiny bridge over a little stream. There as an outhouse there that I made use of. Blessedly, it did not stick too badly. Then onward to a clearing with a well and pump, another small building with a much better stable for to horses enclosed beside it. A huge pile of wood was stacked in cords on the other side of the little house. It was very well kept and looked sturdier than the other one I had been in. Much cleaner. The well was a not a bucket drop. The old style well was actually just decorative. I suppose if there was an emergency, a bucket could be used if you ripped off the cover. There was a pump attached to the side that dripped fresh water into a trough.

I had no intention of stealing anything from the heralds or crown, but I really needed shelter. The night as much too cold for sleeping out in. “Hello?” I called a few times. I didn’t want to startle a poor herald by walking in on him or her. No one answered. I peaked into the stable to see if there was a companion or horse or both. It was empty. There was fresh hay and sand on the packed earth with carefully closed barrels of feed.

“Hello?” I called once more just to be absolutely sure. With still no reply, I headed into the main little building. It was still warm. A herald must have been here recently. He or she likely left in the morning to make it to Haven… unless they were heading south. No, the small flickers of visions when I touched wall or door handle told me the herald was going to the city. Besides, I would have encountered a herald on my way here if the herald was going south.

Once inside, I tossed just one thick log into the fireplace and got it going on the dying coals. It would be enough to get me through the night and not deplete the stack of wood by the door inside the small hut. I hung my coat by the fire and shoved my boots close to dry and warm them.

The place was small enough that I did not need my staff. I could limp about and balance using walls or furniture or fireplace mantle. I was deeply curious. Was a waystation like what I read? I poked into every corner, container, box and cubby. I scanned all the jars and sacs on the shelf. It was well stocked with dry goods, preserved, jerky, and even has a coldbox. The coldbox jutted outside a little and likely had an open box outside to collect snow or a donated block of ice, with drainage for rainwater. It was pretty ingenious. Inside was hard cheese and a pot of butter. Sadly, no milk. Sad because I had seen a container of tea and one of sugar. I really wanted a good hot cup of tea, not dark tea that left a sweater on my teeth and tongue. The bed was just a small one-man cot with a little trundle under it in case two were bedding for the night here. Although, sleeping on the floor was a possibility. There was a large thick soft rug there that took up much of the floor space. The bedding that remained on the cot was a crumpled mess. Did the herald not know how to make a bed? How to leave a place nice for the next herald. That was rather inconsiderate to leave a mess for the next herald to clean. Even the little cook cauldron, a cup and place and utensils were unwashed. I made that my first order of business after I finished exploring. A trunk at the end of the cot held more bedding, neatly folded and clean smelling. I made up the bed for myself then washed the dishes. I wasn’t likely to cook or use them in the morning, but I just could not leave them as they were.

The last furnishings in the room were a small desk and a stool. On it was a log book, writing supplies, and a stack of letter paper. The writing supplies were a couple bottles of ink, several quills fitted with metal nibs, a writing stand to hold the quill and bottle with an ink reservoir and a wash cup for water. A little rag was neatly folded beside and very ink stained. There was a candle, which I didn’t bother lighting. I just used the light from the fireplace to see by so as not to use up a candle. There were more candles and matches in a drawer, along with wax for making seals. No seals though. That is wise. I yawned as I perused the log book to see the structure of the entries. There were entries by heralds and by waystation inspectors, as well as those who ensure things are stocked here. I will make an entry before I leave in the morning. This was important to me. I didn’t mean to use the space or anything here, and by entering something in the log, they can hopefully see my honesty and find me if I need to make some financial donation or pay some fine for my infraction. I will look at this more in detail in the morning.

My gift had been quiet today. There was not much to touch but my familiar walking stick till I got here. I ate a quick dinner from my own supplies. Although, I set aside an apple and put a scoop of oats into my travel mug with some water to soak with a spoon of raisins and honey. I promised myself that I would log those details in my entry. The overnight soak would give me a good hearty breakfast to kick off my morning. Before putting myself to bed, I sat and meditated. Quieting my mind like this sometimes helped me sleep better with fewer seizures in the night.

I thanked the gods for I had slept well.

In the morning, I warmed up the oat and raisin meal on the coals. I ate while I perused the log book to know the style of making log entries by candlelight. Every time a herald used the watystation, they logged what they did and what they used, sometimes adding anything they noticed that needs attention. Guards and resuppliers also have signed the book with inspections and resupplying. Once per year there was a full inventory performed. Every herald’s entry started with a date, followed by their name and destination. Some added their mission or circuit name. The last entry was the worst handwriting I ever saw. I squinted hard to try to read the terrible penmanship. The date was reasonable readable. The herald’s name I think started with a D. I had hoped the date would tell me more of when I was on the timeline, like who the king was. WAIT! Yes! I did know! I flipped back several pages. There it was. Herald Paddin and Trainee Cedric. Fieldwork with the royal heir before circuit assignment, evaluation pending. Cedric was the prince! Now I knew this entry, which was a bit over a year ago, told me that now is the reign of King Kiril. Cedric was likely already on his 2-year circuit. There should be a Herald named Nikolas who was the King’s Own and Master Spy, also masquerading as Willy the Weasel running a Pawn Shop. That had to still be confirmed. Also, if Mags existed, then he would have been very recently Chosen, as in a few months ago… or a year ago. The Heralds Collegium was either in the process of being built or just finished. That meant newly Chosen heralds were no longer going to be mentored on the road, but trained at the collegium, going on the road only for their fieldwork training.

I sat back and ate my oatmeal, which went cold, to let all this sing in. It was a mix of exciting and unnerving. Anything I say or do could destroy a timeline or change it. Is that possible? And there was true danger on the palace grounds or at least lurking about Haven’s city. Was that why I was sent here? Is that my purpose? In my state and condition, I was no match for highly trained assassins. I washed down the oatmeal with water from my canteen and poured a little into the writing stand’s water reservoir. I still had no answers as to my mission or purpose. Regardless, it was time to add my own entry so no one thought a thief was here. What an annoyingly long way to date things. There has got to be an easier way.

\---

 _853AF, late fall, 11_ th past and 1 before Winter Solstice, 3rd week, 3rd day, dawn  
Avery Bayel, gifted seer, not Chosen  
Heading to Haven to find out why I feel intensely “called” to be there

_Used: 1 cup of oats, 1 spoon of raisins, one log, this page and a bit of ink, 1 apple, 2 pieces of jerky_

_Replenished: Hay in the stable_

_Notes:_  
\- Bedding seriously needs to be shook out and hung or folded  
\- Washed the dishes and cleaned up after the last visitor

 _Commentary:_  
\- I apologize for using this waystation, but the weather was very cold and my injured leg would not let me get any further. I have tried to be as sparing as possible and use mostly my own personal supplies. I have also done my best to leave this waystation better than I found it.  
\- I will leave my name at the gates of Haven and be residing in whichever is the nearest inn that the guards advise. You can find me there if I need to be addressed for my infraction of using a Herald’s waystation. I will pay whatever fines or make whatever compensations I must.

_Avery Bayel_

\---

That looked so much longer than I wanted it to be. I ate the apple and jerky, then washed everything and cleaned up as promised in the log. My gift was being quiet today. I wasn’t _seeing_ things from all the stuff I had touched in this waystation. Stupid unpredictable gift. Just the same, I was pleased for the morning of peace and the good sleep. I made sure all containers and boxes and jars were well-shut from bugs and vermin. A last stop at the outhouse on my way down the path and then I was back on the road.

I walked on till I encountered another fork in the road. ANOTHER!?! I dug out the map and glared at it. It was not on the map… oh wait… yes it was. The road to the right led to the inn. The very busy inn. Several travelers who were behind me, veered off that way. Last inn before Haven. It was going to be cram packed with people. So… nope. Nope nope nope. I considered my timing. I should be able to make it to the city before the gates got closed for the night. At least I hoped so. I had grown to rather the quiet… and no stairs. I dreaded Haven a little. If I recalled correctly, it tended towards cramped upward architecture, so much so that message runner were often called roof runners because it was faster to run along the rooftops than to navigate the busy streets. And the inns just outside each of the city gates were notorious for being the busiest. I decided the extra hour or two in the dark to the city gate was well worth it to not have to be in a super busy inn, having deal with stairs.

I took the left fork and headed along the road. It would eventually bend and turn into the city gate, or the outer gate, or something like that. It was a smooth easy road to walk. Yes, this was very much worth the extra hour to avoid the nonsense of a busy in.

Getting fucking mugged before I could reach the bend and call for the help of the guard, however, was NOT!

Two brigands jumped me from the bush on the side of the road. Both has small bats, well… thick sticks, crude cudgels. “Seriously?!” I yelled at them. “you are going to rob me? Do I look like I have anything of worth on me? Bugger off!” I snarled. “I have no time or patience for you. I am tires, sore, and hungry… and I want a fucking hot bath. Don’t make me hit you.” My fist tightened on my staff.

They both laughed at me. One sneered, “The cripple thinks he’s tough!”

I put both hands on the staff and took in a slow steadying breath. Subtle tactic. They took in a slow breath right after me. In that moment, I already knew I had won, just not how. I needed to play it out with hopefully as little injury as possible. It would be really nice if the guard came and patrolled right now, though.

The talker lunged at me. I thudded the butt of my staff between his steps. As he tripped, my staff filled fist bashed him in the temple. He crashed through the bush to the grassy side of the road. The other grabbed my backpack from behind. I had it secured more tightly to me than he had expected. I thrust my stab back under my elbow till the butt connected with an escaping OOF from the bandit. His subsequent groan told me I might have connected with something rather sensitive anatomically. I suppose that is a benefit to my being a smallish guy than the average. I turned and quickly set the butt of the staff to the ground so I could maintain my own balance. The guy was still rolling and whimpering on the ground clutching his crotch.

The talker was up and cursing. He lunged again before I could get the staff up for defense. I braced for the impact, tilting the staff and snapping it forward with a prayer for success as he came at me. It was like a short punch with a fist full of vertical standing staff. I broke his nose and he staggered back. I pivoted, swung low, and swept him off his feet. He landed flat on his back, winded. The talker pulled a little knife. Mentally, I shifted from deterring and restraining to defending my life. I swung the staff back with all my force. He dodges out of the way. Two more swings and he still dodge. I tapped the staff to the ground for balance again. He rushed me with his knife. I flipped the staff up, clipping his chin. Then I turned the staff and brought it down hard over him. It connected with a splintering crack. I was no longer caring how I handled them. He intended to kill me. I protected myself as best I could. The staff snapped. Fuck!

The other guy tackled me. He got in several good punches. I stopped thinking and let my martial training take over… till no one was moving.

I checked the guy who tackled me. He jerked alert. I elbowed and cracked his collarbone. He yowled. I held the splintered end of my broken staff to his throat and terror filled his eyes. I sucked in several deep breaths, trying to reign in my focus and not actually kill him, despite the snippets of visions I picked up of people these two have inadvertently or openly killed to rob. I growled, “You tried to rob me. You thought I was weak and an easy target because I have a crippled leg. You have been attacking people like this for years. I know. I KNOW! In some countries, I would have the right to kill you as a matter of honor. In others, I could cut off your hands. Or break your fingers. I am pondering your fingers still, so I suggest you stay very very still while I think and check if I have killed your partner in this crime.”

The talker that I had downed first was going to seriously need a healer if he was ever to talk again. He was still unconscious. I might have cracked his skull. I wasn’t about to prod too much when real healers with magical healing gifts could handle this. I removed his boot laces and bound his hands with a good knot. The knife I pocketed to give to the guard.

I returned to the other guy. “You are very lucky this is Valdemar and that I am a moral and law-abiding man.” I removed his boot laces and similarly tied his hands, and his feet for good measure. “The guards at the gates will deal with you, hopefully before you both freeze to death.”

“Don’t leave us!” he begged.

I turned cold eyes upon him, “You two caused me to break my walking stick. I am very angry with you both. Also… you have left others right here to die after you attacked them. And they did die. Their ghosts linger here and wait for justice. You are not just robbers, but also murders. You are nothing to me. You have earned your fate.” I limped and hobbled slowly back along the road and around the bend, leaning on any tree I could.

The road turned and there was a low wall I could lean on till the gate came into view. Low as the wall was, I still could hardly see over it. It must be a six-foot-high wall. There were low cramped buildings, forges, stables, and a cobblestone road well-lit with lanterns. The gate was simple a large wide arch with wrought iron for the archway saying _City of Haven_. There was a tiny building like a little mini one-room guard house on the left of the “gate” just inside. I stood under that arch feeling… crestfallen? Disappointed? Somehow, I expected something more… impressive than this. It was near dark and all I could really see was the road and the hints of the other buildings. On the left of the road where the stables were, there was also something akin to a parking lot for wagons and enclosures, so the wagon horses had room to roam. To the right of the road stood the forges, smithies, and cartwrights. The parking lot really amused me.

“Hey, Davis. You deal with that one,” came a male voice from behind the little gatehouse, along with the sound of pissing. Now I was even more unimpressed.

A young guard with a neat little moustache and close trimmed beard stepped from the gatehouse. “Welcome to Haven… Oh my! You look seriously roughed.”

I must have glared daggers at him for how he winced, “No shit!” I snapped, still seethingly angry. “Two guys jumped me to rob my around the bend.”

“Dammit, sir. I am so sorry. Can you give me a description? We have been trying to get a good identification so we can find and catch them.”

“Just go around the bend and collect them. They are not going anywhere.’ I leaned on the corner of the gatehouse for balance. “They are going to need a healer. I kind of lost my temper with them when they cost me my walking stick. It broke while I was defending myself. Please tell me there is an in close by and food… and a bath. I hurt and tired and in the foulest of moods.”

The other guard came from around the building, “If you go straight along the road here, you will get to the main city gate. We’ll fetch… did you seriously deal with them?” He looked skeptically at my heavy limp.

Davis piped in, “Ask to be directed to the Cat’s Whiskers Inn. New management, good food, and they could use the business… if you don’t mind the quiet. And don’t mind that they have a little deaf girl there running about. I think she’d five. Mari is likely there now as she is the servant running the night shift.” He tried not to get that goofy infatuated smile guys get when talking about a girl they really like.

I think he sold me on the name alone. Cat’s Whiskers. I loved cats. It bode well that a place was named thus. I wondered if they had cats roaming there. Either way, quiet, open and able to get food and a bed was perfect. “Thank you… Davis. My name is Avery Bayel. I suspect I might need to testify regarding those guys back there. You will know then where to find me. Also… I suspect a herald or someone might came seeking me for using a waystation out there. I was stuck and needed the shelter.”

The other guard opened a log book and took some notes down, likely my name, destination and transgression. He then fetched some things to go hunt those bandits.

“You’ve got about an hour before the gates are closed. Tell them Davis sent you if they are closed and they’ll let you through.”

I thanked the two guards and continued on awkwardly with my limp. It was a good thing torches lit the road or I would never have found my way in this cold dark. The walls here were much more imposing. High walls. High iron gate. Large gatehouse. There were guards milling in and out and up some stairs to the lookout above.

This was it. I finally made it to Haven! I was at the gate!

… and the gates were locked.


	8. From Gates to Inn

A guard looked down from the tower at the top right of the gates to the city proper. He saw a lone figure limping close to the gate and then leaning a hand on it before looking right up at him. He peered through his little pocket spy glass for a better look at the stranger. The poor fellow was bundled against the cold night, but looked like he had taken a recent beating. The guard did not notice any obvious weapons. Just a cripple on the road between the outer and inner gates. “Heyla! State your business at this late hour.”

The small man squinted up into the dark at the voice and called back, “I am Avery Bayel. Traveler. Guard Davis let me through and told me someone could direct me to an inn. He recommended the Cats Whiskers Inn. I pray it is close. I am fair done with this night. Please let me in.”

The silhouette of the guard above disappeared. Soon, a door in the gatehouse tower opened and another guard motioned for Avery to enter. Inside was yet another guard taking copious notes.

“Your name?”  
            “Avery Bayel.”  
“From where do you hail?”  
            “… … East of the Jaysong Hills, Bayel Crag.”  
“Purpose for coming to Haven?”  
            “It is going to sound like nonsense.”

The guard clerk at the tiny desk looked up from his writing. “Try me,” he challenged.

“I’m a seer and I just have this… this weird need or calling or whatever to be here. I don’t know why. I am desperate to find out. I gave up everything and just traveled six weeks on foot to get here. Oh, and I have some document to go to whoever keeps track of deeds and family rights. An old woman begged me to deliver it. Beyond that… I want a meal, a bath, and a bed,” Avery said wearily.

The clerk scribbled madly, “Not the first time someone been just called. You should go up to the palace. Might you’ll be Chosen if you are gifted.”

Avery scoffed, “I doubt it with my current condition.”

“Know where you’ll be astaying?”

            “Cat’s Whiskers Inn. Guard Davis recommended it.”

The guard chuckled, “Of course he did. He fancies Mari there. She works midnight through breakfast. You’ll meet her when you get there.”

The traveler added, “Please note that I stayed at one of the Waystations close to here. I was a bit desperate. If I need to be found to compensate or something for the infraction, I want whoever needs to know to know where to find me.”

The clerk paused in surprise before adding the note. He could not believe this man’s honesty for admitting such a thing, and he added his personal view at the end of the note. “It will be three coppers to let you in this late and one more for the guide to the inn. Can you…”

Avery already dug into a pouch and placed the coins on the desk without any haggling.

“I’ll have your guard fetch a healer for when you are settled, unless you need one now.”

Avery shifted his weight, standing this long was getting difficult. He closed his eyes trying to do a self-evaluation. Aches, scrapes, bruises. “No, I just need cleaning up and some sleep. The two men who attacked me around the bend outside the outer gate, though. They will need a healer for sure.” Avery frowned. “I need a new staff to help me walk. Mine broke when I was defending myself.”

“Sorry,” apologized the guard clerk. “We got nothing here for you. Try the market tomorrow. Or ask the inn staff or a runner.” He gave the traveler another apologetic look, especially for making him stand this long.

Another door opened and an older man with a different rank entered the small room. The guard clerk deferred to him with a small salute. The older guard skimmed over the notes. “Mr. Bayel, please come with me.”

Avery almost didn’t respond, unused to the last name he had adopted. He noted the clerk’s deferral to the older man. His eyes tracked to the rank insignia and somehow just knew what rank the older man was. That knowledge was just there in his head. The firm request made to him stirred a thread of unreasonable childish anxiety, dreading the unknown pending reprimand. He shifted his stance sharply and might have snapped to a military attention, but winced and thrust a hand out to the wall for balance. Jaw clenched, Avery adjusted his footing carefully, “Yes, Captain.”

The captain and the clerk exchanged a look. The captain gestured through the opened door and Avery limped through. As the captain followed, he spoke casually, directing Avery to another small room with a desk and two chairs. “Are you… or were you military? I think you are too injured to snap to.”

“Merc… for hire till my condition and the cliff side of a goat trail got the better of me.” Avery recognized a casual interrogation, and this is what he was on the receiving end. He chose to try to be a mix of truthful and light-hearted.

“Valdemar does not have mercs.”

“then what do you call the people hired to protect merchants on the road?”

“Private guards, who are all guilded here in Valdemar. And Mercs are normally part of a registered and guilded company outside Valdemar. So, where are you actually from?”

Avery sighed heavily, “Can we not do this till morning?” He knew there was no chance of that. It was best to interrogate someone who is exhausted so as to catch them in mistakes just like this one. Never give time for the person being interrogated to think up fabricated answers.

“Your Valdemaran is flawless. What other languages do you know?” He was trying to figure out where exactly and who exactly this man was. He was clearly crippled, so the danger he presented was at least limited. And a herald has shown concern enough to insist on arranging a healer for this Avery when he got to Haven. But the Captain hated finding out that things just did not add up and he needed to know. Darius would be doing much the same if the investigative Herald were here.

“I am from very very stupidly far away. I know Valdemaran best, and a smattering of other bits. I wish I could explain more, but that fall I took… left me with a great deal of holes. And I know… I know. See a healer, a mindhealer, someone named Gregor who is away until the summer which helps me not at all. Nor you for getting answers. So best I can say for now is that I am from far away and my clearest memory of here is Bayel Crags, which is where I got my name. The moment I got into Valdemar, I get this… intense and unshakable need to come here to Haven. Did someone manipulate me? Did I crack my skull and forget something really important? Am I just suffering some kind of crazy brain damage? Is it remotely possible to feel… called… with the manifestation of an extremely frustrating and inconsistent seer’s gift that triggers my condition of seizures?So here I am, to figure out why, why I feel I have to be here so badly. Does it matter where I am from?” Avery struggled with trying to keep his feelings of vexation out of his voice and knew he was failing.

The captain listened carefully. It was not the first time for him either to meet someone just ‘called’ to be here and thus find that they end up Chosen. He didn’t want to potentially interfere with a Choosing, but “King Kiril has a watch out for foreigners.”

Avery sucked in a sharp breath and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “Was there a terrible snow last winter? A killing storm over Haven? Is he searching for foreign guards and a missing delegate?”

The captain blinked, uncomprehending.

“I state again that I am a seer, albeit a new one. Maybe I _saw_ wrong… or these things are yet to pass. Or… are you referring to some strange vision that is flying about like a bad rumor and having everyone alarmed?”

The captain frowned with concern. “Last winter was excellent here. The rest I cannot discuss.”

“Right. Vision it is,” Avery mutters almost to himself, “and the delegate and his guards are either not here yet, in the palace already, or a fabrication of my mind confusing it for a seer’s vision.” He huffed out a breath and rubbed his tired eyes careful of the bruising. “Look, I probably sound completely crazy. You are welcome to question me till I am blue… under Truth Spell with a Herald if you like. I sound nutty even to myself at this point.” Now Avery had a better idea of the timeline of things and when he, though not entirely precisely. He needed to confirm if Mags existed and was chosen. That would definitely settle it. He wondered how much he knew from what he remembered reading in the novels was true or if this was a completely different timeline or dimension. He tried not to have a small existential crisis over being dumped into a fictional fantasy story, or maybe all those novels… all novels actually… were just glimpse into existing realms.

“A new seer,” the captain interrupted Avery’s frantic thoughts. “Look. I really cannot answer you, but I have to follow my gut that you are different somehow and that I need to keep an eye on you.”

Avery shrugged, “not like I can run away. You know where I will be. You can keep as close an eye on me as you like. I can even provide you daily reports of my activities if you want. You want to know why I am here. Well, so do I. “Yes, I can fight… sort of. I did very poorly against those brigands. It was an insult to my training. I have been off my feet healing for months and then the last six weeks trekking here. So, if we are done here, I would very much like that inn. It is late and I am exhausted and expect this will be a nasty night of seizures just from the exhaustion.”

“You really should see our healer here.”

“Ya, sure, tomorrow please. I am not going to die tonight and I really want food, bath and sleep.” Avery felt like a broken record, he didn’t even think records existed here.

“Alright. I sent a runner to the outer gate. As soon as he is back, he will take you to the inn.”

Avery quietly thanks the gods. He really didn’t care that the guard followed his every step, tested him, questioned him. If it meant he got answers too, then he welcomed it wholeheartedly… after a night’s sleep which he was worrying he would never get.

The runner was not long and returned to report to the captain, confirming Avery’s story, Davis’ recommendation, and the incident with the bandits. He sent the runner into the room to take Avery and lead him to the Cat’s Whiskers Inn. Then he sat to prepare his the start of his report for Herald Darius as requested.

The young trainee was perhaps barely fifteen years old and clearly had far too much energy for this late hour. Avery concluded that being a runner was an assignment to try to use up that energy. The teen seemed cheery and chatted lightly about general current events. He laughed about the captures bandits. He babbled about the top interesting crafts and trends and fads. Yet, excellently avoided sensitive subjects. It was very informative for Avery who just wanted to know more about the place he was going to be for who knew how long. It helped Avery put into context the current state of affairs. It also taught him a bit about the shops and where/who was good and not.

The chatting took his mind off his pain, but Avery still had to pause often or lean on the teen for balance. “Hey,” he finally interjected, “Do you know where I could get a new staff to help me walk?”

“Oh sure! The Bowyer likely has. Or The Forresters. The Bowyer is at the east end of 5th Artisan Row, next to the bridge over the river. The Forresters are on the north side of Haven. Depends on what you want. Just a good stick or like an actual fighting staff or quarterstaff.”

Avery interrupted again before the teen could get going on another string of chatting. “Do you know Willy the Weasel? I hear he has a late night shop and is honest and trustworthy. Maybe I could find a second hand staff there?”

“Eek! Ya… I know him. He is really mean… but ya, he’ll not shuck you. Dunno what he has, though. If you really want to see him. He’s on 3rd Low Row just east of the inn you’ll be at. Not a nice area that far over. Be careful.”

They finally stopped in front of a smallish inn with a wide path on the side that lead to a rear courtyard and stable large enough for four horses only. It was on 1st Low Row East and Avery really wanted a map but forgot to ask for one at the gatehouse. A task for tomorrow or the day after. He looked up at the newly carved sign of a cat with long whiskers and the word INN. He bid the runner goodnight and headed inside.

The runner watched and waited. When he was sure the limping traveler was not coming out, he hurried back to report to the captain.

“Sir, he was mostly quiet. Asked where to get a new staff. I suggested the Bowyers and the Forresters. He then asked about Willy the Weasel and where to find his shop. Said Willy was honest and trustworthy.” The teen shuddered trying not to think too hard about the rough man.

The captain nodded as he took notes. Then he wrote a few short formal letters and sealed them along with his package of notes about Avery Bayel. “Good work. Take my report to the palace. Drop this note with our healer. This note goes to Herald Darius. And this note is for Herald Nikolas, King’s Own.”

The teen was off for yet another albeit much longer run, likely over the rooftops to make it faster and safer. Before he darted out the door, he turned and smiled, “I really like him, and I feel bad for how much he is hurting. He’s… a lost soul really looking for something.”

The captain shooed the teen off, wondering if this time when he got to the palace he would be Chosen. That kind of intuition and empathy had to be a latent gift budding. It was bound to happen sooner or later, that Choosing. The captain had never been wrong yet about those he sensed would be Chosen. He pulled a little notebook from a pocket listing all the names of those he suspected would be Chosen and added Avery Bayel to the list.


	9. Bella's Blessing

Meanwhile, Avery entered the inn and sat at the nearest table to rest his knee that screamed loudly about its pain. He regretted turning down the healer at the gatehouse and wished that meeting had gone better. A small child of maybe fine years of age scampered in her nightgown down the corridor, through the kitchen, and around the corner into the common room. It was well past her bedtime.

“Bella!” cried a woman who came after the child.

Avery caught the child as she dashed by. The woman in pursuit gasped, “I am so sorry! Bella is deaf. I hope she…”

“It is fine.”

“She just doesn’t understand.”

A younger woman came out of the kitchen, deferring to the first. Avery learned from the brief exchange that the older woman was the child’s mother and the new innkeeper. Her name was Sarya and the younger was Mari, who apparently the Guard Davis fancied. Meanwhile, Avery was making careful eye contact with the little deaf girl. She had wispy blond hair cut straight above her eyes and loose in the back barely touching her shoulders.

He held her left wrists in one have and waved at her with the other. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his hand. She tentatively waved back and he smiled hugely at her. Now he had her full attention. He pointed to himself and then tapped his first two fingers to his forehead. Next he held up his fist with the thumb on the side and knocked twice on the air; with each knock, he stuck out his thumb and pinky finger. She watched. Avery pointed to her, tapped his first two fingers to his brow again… “What is her name?”

“Bella,” said Mari directing the stressed mother to the kitchen. “Would you like something?”

“Tea, whatever scraps of dinner are leftover… a bath and a room.” He would take whatever at this point.

The child was trying to copy the gestures Avery had made. He helped correct her. He let go of her hand and repeated the series of signs, watching her smile with great big dimples. She was terribly cute. He repeated again for himself, then again for her. Then he added a new sign. This one he did very slowly. He help up his hand with all the fingers together, but tucked the thumb in front. Then he pointed the top of this to his cheek with his elbow sticking out and tilted the hand twice. He repeated the series till she could copy it fairly well. He helped shape her hands. Then her eyes grew big and Avery knew that it clicked. She bounced on her toes, pointed to her mother, and tapped her two first fingers to her brow.

Avery smiled and nodded. He fanned out his fingers and tapped his thumb to his chin while mouthing very clearly the word MAMA. He silently cheered with each of her successful signing attempts. Her mother came over. “What are you doing?” she asked worriedly as she set down a bowl pf broth soaked bred and melted cheese. The little girl tugged her mother’s skirt for attention. She pointed to herself, tapped her brow, and gave the flat hand tilting in her dimpled cheek. Then she repeated pointed to Avery, tapping her brow, and then did the little fist knocking gesture. Finally she pointed to her mother, tapped her brow, and tapped the thumb of her fanned out little hand to her chin as she mouthed MAMA. She bounced on her toes again expectantly.

“I don’t understand, Bella,” said her mother with confusion.

Avery spoke softly, “She said that her name is Bella, my name is Avery, and your name is Mama.”

The woman took in a shuddering breath with her hand over her mouth as her eyes swelled with tears. “You… she… she spoke… She understand…”

“Your daughter is deaf, not stupid. I just showed her a few things to occupy her while you got ready for me and to settle a little for you.”

“My daughter can talk…”

“With her hands, yes. I would have thought someone would have taught her some form of handspeak by now. She seems about five years old…” He stopped talking while Sarya hugged Bella and practically cried. “Uhm. I hate to intrude, but it is very late. She should be abed. I would really like a hot bath and a bed where I need not climb stairs. I have an injured knee and a had a rough arrival. If you cannot accommodate, I will take anything you can give. I am very tired.”

The woman picked up her child and wiped her eyes, “Mari, see that he has everything he asked for tonight. On the house.” She turned to Avery, “If you are staying a while, would you consider bartering? A trade? Teach Bella in the mornings… and your room and board will be covered for as long as you do.”

That was the best news he had heard all day and evening. Bella turned out to be quite a blessing. “If my room is ground floor, yes, I would love to for as long as I can.”

“I will wake my husband, Turam, to clear out father’s old workroom out. Avery, sir? Thank you.” She carried the child off to bed, who waved at Avery from over her mother’s shoulder.

Avery waved back, and then he tucked into his small and very late meal.


	10. Hope

The night had been hellish.

The meal at the start tasted heavenly after being on the road so long. I enjoyed the hot beef broth with the hint of red wine, even if it was just the dregs and drops left from the day. The bread had been heavy and grainy. This made up for the thin rations I have had for the last week. It filled my belly and grounded me. The tea was a wonderful surprise… tea with bergamot. I was too tired to savor it.

Bella’s blessing… it lead to free room and board… and a ground floor room! Free… well, almost free. I have to teach this adorable deaf mute child a way to communicate. I could do that. I enjoyed the late meal, trying to ignore the growing aches from the fight I had earlier. Meanwhile, Mari removed things from a side room down the hall just before the stairs to the upper floors.

All that had been fine. Sleeping… had not. Every bruise announced itself. My knee protected every movement. The bath in the bathing room across the hall had helped, but only nominally. At least I was clean. I wished I had not been too tired to soak. A soak would have helped more. I tried to sleep, but small visions still invaded with every accidental or necessary touch.

A Herald investigating books.

A bitter and lonely old man at the desk.

A cat being chased from the room.

A healer arguing with the old man to contact family.

The visions came in no coherent order and made little sense, not to my tired mind. The ensuing seizures ruined the rest of the night’s sleep. I found myself on the floor more often than not, having fallen from the little cot. Mari helped me back into the cot each time, bless her. After the third or fourth time, she just pulled the mattress to the floor so I could sleep there without falling.

Morning light peeked through the curtain of the small room’s window much too early. My biological clock woke me with it, but I really wanted more sleep. I felt like shit. Normally, I would be up and moving. I should be up and moving. I made a promise to teach little Bella, but I just could not do it.

The door opened. I groaned. Another seizure blanked out all possible thoughts. Then a young man, wearing a muted dark green robe with some light leather military armor over it, spoke gently and called me by name.

“Mr. Bayel. Avery Bayel. Avery. I am healer Benji of the Guard. I will help you if you permit me.”

I nodded. His look was compassionate. I must have seemed quite a pathetic sight right now. I submitted to his careful ministrations. He eased the aching, a magical coolness flowed through me to all the scrapes and bruises and blisters, to the swelling in my knee, to the pounding in my head.

“I am sorry, Avery. I cannot fix your knee or cure your seizures. I recommend a mindhealer specialist, Master Gregor. He is out of town till Summer Solstice. He could likely do something to help the seizures or about your gift triggering them.”

It was nothing new. I nodded and would remember the name. Master Gregor, mindhealer.

“You are exhausted. You should take things very easy this afternoon. I want to induce a deep sleep. You need it.”

I wished I had the energy to be excited by his ability to make my life easier. “You can do that?” I asked almost flatly.

He chuckled, “Yes, I can. Most healers can, to help the healing process.”

“Great. Please. Bill me…”

“This service today will not be charged.”

I understood that to mean that this healing session was to confirm my story some for the captain. “Tell Captain Hael he was right. I should have seen you when I was at the Gatehouse. And thank him for me. And thank you. Please apologize to the innkeepers for me? I am supposed to teach their daughter…” He shut me up by inducing the sleep, chuckling as he did.

I woke sometime later to the sounds of people in the common room and the smell of… hot apples and sharp cheese being cooked somehow. I felt much refreshed from that deeply needed sleep. I sat up to realize I rose from a mattress on the floor. Oh yes, Mari did that, moved it to the floor so I stopped falling from the cot. On the desk were a wash basin, large pitcher of water, and a cup. I took this time to drink water, wash up, scrub the nastiness in my mouth, and survey the room.

The room was small for being crammed full of boxes and shelves. Emptied, it would likely be a rather decent size. Regardless, I was grateful for the accommodations, however rushed. The little mattress took up most of the available floor space next to the cot. The cot was a narrow box bed on short legs, the underneath also crammed with storage supplies and junk. I didn’t think this room had seen use since the former owner of the inn died and the new owners took over. I sensed the new owners used this room to shove in all the things they were not sure what to do with. I supposed that was easier them hauling it all up into an attic.

If you stood in the doorway looking into the room, it looked like this. To the left of the door were boxes and but nothing pressed into the corner. Heat radiated from the left wall close to the door. The fireplace from the common room must be on the other side. The cot took up the rest of the left wall into the far left corner. A huge heavy oak desk was under the window on the wall opposite the door. It had been hastily emptied to make room for the wash basin and pitcher. Deep shelves almost from floor to ceiling lined the entire right-hand wall. Just to the right of the door, three trucks were stacked atop each other. The door’s hinges were on the left. My gear had been set near those hinges. I sometimes got flashes of what this room looked like before it became a junk room. It served once as the innkeeper’s office and private room for the old innkeeper. He even sometimes slept in here.

I let go of the knowledge. This was going to be my room for who knows how long.

Cleaned and dressed (I really needed to get the rest of my clothes washed… and I should shave), I felt more human. Much more human. I should send flowers or something to the Captain and healer for helping me, even if it was to assuage their fears and doubts about me. I will at least write them heartfelt thank you notes. I searched for my staff only to remember that it was broken when I defended myself against those two brigands. I sighed with exasperation. I suppose this was as good a time as any to practice balance? Thank goodness there were lots of things to hold onto and to lean on.

I made my way out to the common room and sat in the nearest available chair, at the table by the fireplace. The table I would have preferred was occupied. I wanted to the table on the corner. I know that seemed very trope, but I liked the defensible spot. Alas. Lunch time was not very busy, but busy enough. I had hardly sat long before the bobbing head of a blond five-year-old with huge dimples peeked over the table at me. She skipped around the table and hugged me. She waved at me and remembered the little handsign for my name. I waved and signed back, “Hello Bella.” The sign I used for her name was a play one words. If I pointed a finger into my cheek and tilted the fist, it would mean ‘cute.’ By using the flat hand to form the sign for the letter B, I turned it into a sign for her name, because she is very cute. I liked trying to include a letter into a name, like the sign for my name of the fist with the thumb on the side is the letter A.

The innkeeper came over. She asked, “Are you up for some lunch,” as she directed Bella away.

“I do. Bella may eat with me if she hasn’t eaten yet. I am sorry I could not teach her this morning, but I will gladly occupy her through the afternoon. The healer insisted I take things easy and just sit for the afternoon till dinner. This way, she can be busy and I won’t be bored.”

I saw relief in her eyes, “Oh wonderful. This will keep her out of the way while we more properly arrange your room.”

I tapped Bella and pointed to the chair, then used the sign for ‘name’ by tapping my foresead with two fingers together. She repeated and waited excitedly for the new name of something. “Chair,” I said with emphasized mouthing so she can see the word on my face. Next, I held my left hand palm up and pointing to the right. I placed my right hand palm over palm with the four fingers together and pointing down front. She carefully copied the easy two-hand sign. Then she signed a sentence to me, pointing to the chair, ‘that name chair.’ Basically she said to me, “That is called a chair.” I cheered and did a little happy dance in my chair for her.

Bella’s vocabulary now consisted of: I/me/my/mine, you/your/yours, name, Avery, Bella, Mama, hello, and chair. This was soon added to by necessity: sit, table, plate, sandwich, eat, cup, and drink. We ate thick roast beef sandwiches and drank apple juice. Yummy was the next new word sign. The afternoon progressed like this, naming objects and associating them with an action. Bella was like a very excited sponge! Her joy was infectious. My cheeks ached from all the smiling.

 By the time Bella went down for a late afternoon nap, her mind was full and tired. I finally stood and stretched and wandered off to relieve myself in the little bathing room that had a water closet. So glad I did not need to look for an outhouse. I like having indoor bathroom facilities. Shitting in a hole where you have thin wooden walls between you and a frozen snowy outside air… is altogether uncomfortable. Doable if you have no other choice of course, but blessedly I have a choice.

When I returned to my table, I found a bowl of cut fruit and cheese along with a cup of tea. TEA! Tea is a true weakness of mine. I will likely die from someone poisoning my tea. Hm, I should probably not think that too loudly in case someone gets any ideas. TEA! I have that lovely tea with the bergamot. I inhaled the comforting aroma. The only way this could be better… I asked the waitress, Lucilla I think or was it Kareen, hard to say as they were identical twin sisters, I asked one if there was some vanilla and sugar and milk or cream I could add. Yes, that would make this tea…. OH! Yes, She brought me vanilla flavored sugar, lightly golden in color because of course there is no bleached white sugar here, and a little cup of milk. This was pure bliss. Black tea, bergamot and vanilla, sweetened, and with milk. Perfect.

I took this time to review in my mind the names of those at the inn. Blend in, become part of a community, make allies… these were my current objectives till my mission became clear. I still worried about it; I had no clue what it was yet and should. I still felt called, but here I am and … still no clue. Those at the inn included: Bella (deaf, mute, 5-yr-old now my charge to educate in the ways of cummicating), her mother Sarya (innkeeper), Bella’s father Turam (owns a farm just outside of Haven), Mari (innkeepers assistant and works midnight till noon), Lucilla and Kareen (twin sisters, wait on people during the day), Conrik (a young stablehand built like an OX!), Evvan (a message boy called a runner, I think he is 12 or 14 years old, stops by the inn every day around lunch).

I met Turam in passing. He actually runs a farm just on the outskirts of Haven. When he showed up, it was to snuggle his daughter and put her down for her nap. The family used to live on that farm, but when Sarya’s bitter father died, she inherited the failing inn. The past few months have been a struggle for them financially and emotionally. Sarya and Bella stay here mostly now and he at the farm. Every now and then he comes in to visit, or to take her to the farm to visit the animals she grew up with. I hope what I offer Bella in communications skills eases their stresses and worries and helps bring the family back together.

Turam came out of the family room where Bella was napping; he was very baffled. I smiled to myself listening to Sarya update him about the signing lessons and how Bella was learning to talk, albeit with her hands. He walked right up to me while I was having tea to shake my hand. I was glad for the gloves, but it still gave me knowledge of their family life these past few months. “I will teach her how to say Papa next,” I promised. I read off him that he spent the harvest time at the farm and has huge doubts about owning this inn, about its success. Though now, with Bella learning to talk, he was clearly redefining his meaning of success.

Turam finished emptying my room with the help of Conrik. They practically stripped the room bare. Often, one or the other would ask me what I needed and how long I was staying. I remained in my seat and out of the way. I have no idea how they managed to remove everything. Those shelves alone would have been a hellish affair. The desk they left. They had no idea how it got into the room, thus could not figure out how to get it out. I was happy to keep it and use it in there, so it stayed.

“I think I will be here a while. I had considered renting a room somewhere or tiny apartment, but I am very glad to barter room and board for teaching Bella. I came here on … well… I just had a feeling I needed to be in Haven. I have no idea why, but I hope to find out.”

Turam nodded gravely, “We will set you up then for as long as you can be with us.” Clearly, he thought at some point I would get Chosen, too.

“Thank you. I need, I think, a wider bed. That desk and a trunk for my things. Maybe a side table and a small shelf? And maybe some means to hang up my winter wear against the back of the fireplace. Is it too much to ask for a sheet I can cut into strips? I would like to use it to bandage my knee to give it better support till I can find a new staff to help me walk.” I had to then explain my injuries and my condition to both he and Sarya in case it interfered with my functioning like it did this morning.

Our conversation ended with me sharing a meal with the family where I taught Bella to say Papa with an open hand and fanned fingers, tapping her thumb on her temple. It drove her father to tears as it had her mother last night. Excited with her progress, she said many things to him.

‘My name Bella. Her name Mama. Your name Papa. His name Avery.’

Turam chose to stay the night so Bella could show him all the other words she learned with hand signs. I watched them retire to the back rooms, past the water closet and bathing room.

Sarya patted my arm, “You gave us something we did not have, something that cannot be calculated with a monetary value. There is not enough we could ever do to repay what you gave us.”

I felt oddly shy and a bit puzzled.

“Avery,” she said, “you gave us hope. You gave Bella the possibility of a normal future no one thought she could have. She is like a whole new child, with focus and curiosity. It is like I am meeting my daughter for the first time. Thank you.”

Humbled, I replied softly, “You are most welcome.” I will never forget this moment. This moment where hope filled a space and shone in people’s eyes. It warmed my heart.


	11. Of Weasels & Heralds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us meet... can you guess who?

After dinner, Avery returned to his room to see how it looked. It was quite the make-over! He leaned against the doorframe wondering how the heck Turam got the two-person bed in and the HUGE wall of shelving out! All the clutter and storage supplies were also gone. By comparison, it felt empty, fresh, and stripped of any echoes of what it used to be.

Avery breathed in the clean scent. The door opened to his left where he leaned looking in. There stood a tall wrought iron stand to hang coats and cloaks. On the floor in front of the wall that backed the common room fireplace lay a tray with oiled canvas and a thick towel for wet winter boots. The left wall’s cot had been pulled out and replaced with the large two-person bed pushed into the far corner. That meant the desk no longer fit centered under the window and got shoved over into the corner. That gave a bit of room for a bedside table between bed and desk, but there was not one there yet. The right wall was completely bare. Maybe I should have asked to keep a shelf in there? Maybe something smaller than the ones before? I will think on it. I kind of wanted the desk turned to face the right wall so my back would not be to the door if I sat at it. However, I felt too guilty to ask anyone to shove that heavy oak desk again. To the right of the door were two trunks, one with spare bedding and one for my belongings. In the corner was a small shelf that was naked. A basin and water pitcher sat on one of the trunks. A thick rug covered the floor in the center of the room. It was blessedly soft and would make for a safer landing if I fell or had a bad seizure.

An old sheet rested on the newly made bed, the one he asked for to cut into strips. Avery sat and did just that, cut the sheet into long strips with his boot knife. Next, he firmly bound his right knee with the strips and tested his stability. Not perfect, but better. It didn’t look very dignified, but it would be very functional.

Avery took several minutes to do his daily meditation. He practiced careful centering and grounding. It helped him achieve calm and brace himself for his evening plans. He tucked some coins and gems in places that would be difficult to rob or pickpocket. His goal was to find Willy the Weasel’s Pawn Shop, which was in a not so reputable part of this district of Haven. He knew that without a staff to help him walk, this was going to take a long time, longer than he would like. Maybe he would luck out and find a staff there? He could hope. He would have preferred to do this during the warmer hours of the day, but the shop was usually only open in the late evening to a few hours past midnight.

The walk was hard and slow and boring. Not that he was complaining about boring. Boring was good; meant no one tried to mug him. He finally stood before the building looking up at the old worn and crooked sign that read WW Pawn Shop. It seemed dark inside, so he looked more closely through the window. The back shone with a faint light from a single small lantern. The light grew stronger as more lanterns were lit. The Weasel must have just arrived. The building next door was all boarded up and locked with a padlock.

Avery pressed a hand to the boarded up place. His fingers sensed very little from it. That told him it had been abandoned and locked up for a long time. Mags must not yet be using it to save street kids. Either Mags did not exist in this dimension of Valdemar, wasn’t following that path, or wasn’t yet old enough or even yet chosen.

The sound of several bolts and interior locks opening almost made Avery jump. He took a deep breath and pressed his hand to the shop door. The many snippets of visions were not very helpful. Bits of people coming and going to beg loans, buy/trade things, and give information. He opened the door and stepped inside. It was like the worst junk-filled garage… or like any over-cluttered grungy pawn shop. Avery limped heavily inside and did a slow turn to see if he recognized anything to help him place him in time more clearly. A large woodworkers toolbox sat on a shelf.

“Tha’ there ain’t fer sale ner trade,” snapped a gruff voice in the back. Willy the Weasel studied the limping stranger in his shop. The stranger was too neat and too clean to really be the usual sort of client, not that the Weasel didn’t them, just it wasn’t often that sorts crossed the threshold. He leaned his arm on the counter behind the protective bars that separated him and the back ‘office’ from the main shop room.

Avery took a step to turn and face the Weasel, unsurprised by the man’s look and demeanor. Rough dusty blond hair (not unlike a very bad shag carpet) and (speaking of carpets) a carpet of stubble on the man’s face. He looked unfriendly and slightly dangerous. He should, especially if Avery was right about who this person was and what his role was here in Haven (and Valdemar). So, Avery was not intimidated. Though honestly, it would take a great deal to truly intimidate Avery. He had just seen far too much on all his lifetimes.

“I am new to Haven and was attacked on my way in. It cost me a decent walking staff. Do you happen to have any?” Avery scanned the shop again, but he did not see any immediately. “Or, can you get any soonish?”

The Weasel pondered, “Not really, but mebbe I c’n look fer some if ya leave a deposit and come back inna week. Otherwise check Forresters or Bowyers.”

Avery sighed because a week was a long time. However, “The Forresters is too far for me to get to by foot without one. I’ll have a look at Bowyers, but I suspect his will be too expensive.” His eyes lingered on the woodworkers toolbox. “I’ll deposit if you can get something sturdy but not too thick… like a quarterstaff. Nothing fancy.” He reached up and touched his fingertips to the box.

“I said it ain’t fer sale.”

The small vision of a man carving a beautiful cabinet with a wooden fresco confirmed who it belonged to. “I know. His craftsmanship is incredible. It is a shame his toolbox if here. Does he have much left to pay it off?” Avery asked, slightly distracted. Leaving an item as collateral for a financial loan was also common practice. If the timeframe for repayment was not met, then the item went up for sale.

The Weasel narrowed his eyes, wondering how this man knew anything of this. “Nunyer concerns.”

“Fair. Here is my deposit,” Avery limped over, placing a silver coin on the ledge and through a slot for money exchanges. His hand landed on a wooden contraption nearby to help him maintain balance and he pulled it back suddenly. A small vision of the contraption unfolding to a small tea table and folding again shot through his mind. “Ohhh… OH! I will take this if I may.” He could hardly contain his delight as he felt inspired suddenly. “And whoever made it… can whoever made it make a small folding chair to go with it? Is that possible?”

Dirty eyebrows raised as the Weasel took the silver coin and recorded the deposit for the staff. “The folding table costs 3 silver. The chair anudder 2 in advance."

Avery frowned at the near highway robbery, “That… is rather a lot.”

“Then feck off and don’ bother,” the Weasel waved dismissively at him.

Avery placed a small couple of gems by the slot. “Can you exchange these for coin and take the 5 silver out of that?”

The Weasel pulled the gems through the slot and examined them carefully. He logged the exchange and purchase and request. He held the gems to the lantern light for further inspection, then tossed them into a tray and counted out coin for Avery from a box hidden under the counter.

Avery claimed the coins and fingered them with some concentration. Little flashes of Heralds and Companions confirmed what he had hoped about this Willy Weasel; he didn’t want to blow the man’s cover. “Do you know Mags?” he asked as he tucked away the coins.

The Weasel’s eyes snapped to Avery with brief suspicious ferocity.

“He’s worth training.”

Who are you?” growled the Weasel as he leaned close to the bars, a hand on a throwing dagger under the counter’s edge.

“My name is Avery. I am a seer. My apologies for reading things I ought not. I cannot not see somehow. I _see_ things from the things I touch. The gift is somewhat new and I am still learning how to control it. I dare not touch people. Too much _seeing_ causes seizures. Anyhow, if you are wondering if I will share your secrets, the answer is no. You need to be here. I gather that if I happen to _see_ anything odd, that I can bring it to your attention here?”

“Where c’n ya be found, Avery Seer?”

Avery leaned on the newly purchased folding table for support. “Avery Bayel. I am staying at the Cat’s Whiskers Inn. I arrived last night. I hope while I am here I will understand why I felt called to be here… maybe find a healer who can help me. Guard Healer Benji told me of Master Gregor, a Master Mindhealer. Anyhow, why do you need to know where I am staying?"

“So’s I c’n send word about the staff an’ chair.”

Avery nodded, accepting the other man’s half-lie. He left, making his slow way back to the inn with the help of the folding table to lean on as needed along the way.

The Weasel watched the door close. _::Rolan, should I be concerned?::_ As a Herald in disguise, this encounter could cost him a good persona and source of information.

The Companion shifted his weight in the stall of the theater’s stable many streets away. _::Be wary, but I honestly do not know. This needs further looking into.::_

The Weasel locked the pawn shop immediately. _::Wake Faleen and Darius. Let’s get them on this investigation.::_ As King’s Own Herald and Master Spy for Valdemar, Willy Weasel was better known as Herald Nikolas and could and did give these kinds of orders.

Herald Darius was the investigative Herald. He had just gotten back the night before from investigating the mine from which the recently Chosen Mags had been taken. What a fiasco that was! He hated doing investigations outside Haven. They always required so much extra effort as they were often fraught with greater resistance, especially places bordering the limits of Valdemar who thought they could escape the eyes of the law, do their own thing, yet benefit still from Valdemar’s protection. He welcomed his time off and looked forward to relaxing for a week before returning to duty within the city. He slept peacefully at the moment, with an arm flung out to one side and off the bed and the other over his very green eyes.

 _::Darius, dearheart. Wake. I have some sore but perhaps interesting news.::_ a female voice prodded the sleeping mind of the Herald.

The Herald rolled a little to one side, his straight dark blond hair fell smoothly over his eyes to tickle the bridge of his nose annoyingly. _::Faleen… I JUST fell asleep.::_

_::The King’s Own needs you.::_

Darius sat bolt up in bed.

_::Relax, not this second. However, you have a mission. You need to investigate someone.::_

Darius flopped back onto his bed with a loud groan. _::I JUST got back!::_

 _::Yes, and you happen to be JUST the best investigative Herald.::_ She used his complaintive word at him teasingly. _::Herald Nikolas would like you to investigate Avery Bayel.::_

THAT piqued his interest. That was the man he had met on the road in that small snow squall. _::When and where?::_ he asked is more curiosity.

_::Cat’s Whiskers Inn. Seems like he took your advice from the guards.::_


	12. Conceptualizing

It was practically midnight, or maybe much later, by the time I got back to the inn. I felt positively effervescent! My evening had been full of small successful discoveries. Let’s just ignore the fact that it took me over an hour to limp a few blocks away. Back to those small discoveries…

Willy the Weasel exists for true!  
He really is a Herald in disguise, though that could stand to be confirmed.  
The woodworker is real.  
Mags was known at least.  
I put myself out there as a gifted seer to a Herald. I really hope he is King’s Own Herald Nikolas.  
And, I have a little folding table.

That last probably doesn’t seem like something to be as excited over as I am. A little tea table. A FOLDING little tea table. There were no staffs… staves… whatever, but that will come.

“Hello Mari!” I cheered as I entered the inn. “May I please have tea in my room?”

She looked up from where she was washing dishes, baffled by my bright voice. “You are looking much better, Mr. Bayel. Would you like the tea with vanilla sugar and milk again?”

Bright was definitely how I felt. Bright was the smile I gave her for remembering. “Yes! Yes please. And yes, I am doing much better. I attribute that to your excellent care and attention.” She blushed a little to the compliment. I limped on down the hall, leaning on my new treasure like a cane. My steps would likely have had a bounce in them if I were not crippled.

Cloak off and hung, boots left on the tray, I sat on the bed and opened the little folding tea table. It took a bit of fiddling till I figured out how to keep it from collapsing in on itself. The surface was about a foot and a half long by a foot wide. Not large enough to have  tea on by the bed, or to eat at if I wanted to eat in my room but not at by desk. However, none of that was my plan for this little table. This little table was going to help me conceptualize my new persona. It was going to be my new divination table. I needed an income and a way to integrate into life here till my mission became clear. Blend in; become part of the community; make allies.

Mari entered with the tea and naturally set it on the little tea table, or at least the tea cup. “You are altogether too chipper for past midnight.”

I had to laugh. “I found something, not a staff which I still need, but something fun.”

“A… tea table? This… is a fun thing?” she asked with skeptically raised eyebrows.

I grinned broadly, “Yes! For tea certainly. I do have a love of tea. But honestly, it is more for when I do Seeings.”

“You are a Seer?”

“Yes, I see things when I touch them. It is why I wear the gloves, to reduce how much contact I have with things and thus limit what I see.” I eagerly wanted to set up the table and see if the little idea that had percolated would work out as I hoped. “Thank you for the tea, Mari. Tomorrow, I can do a reading… a Seeing… for you if you like. I am hoping maybe to be able to make a little money at this since I am not very employable for a normal job with my injury and condition.” I tried to stay both honest and positive.

She seemed to ponder my offer with a growing frown that started to worry me. Finally she simply said, “Maybe. And I think you would make an excellent tutor or teacher. You should consider getting guilded.”

I smiled and agreed to consider her idea, but I already knew it wasn;t something I could do. What if I had a seizure in the class? Or before, preventing me from going to teach at all on a given day? Teaching Bella was nothing like being a formal tutor. I am certain my understanding of math is very different, certainly my understanding of science was likely courting some form of blasphemy to sanity. I bet they used an abacus. Ugh. I had no idea how to use one. History and politics? There was no way I could possibly teach either with any surety. Literature? I only vaguely recall ‘Sun & Shadow’. Philosophy? I know very different things by people who do not exist here. Religions? I could not name a single one. At best, I could teach reading and writing and basic math… and maybe some life skills. Then I come right back to my lack of being reliable because of my condition. Teaching Bella here is unique because there is great flexibility. I doubt anyone else would be so flexible or understanding.

Shaking off those thoughts. I enjoyed my tea and studied the table. If I use it to do divination, like with the stones as I did in Kettlesmith, how would I set it up? What would I need? How will I carry it? Oh…. Is there a guild for Seers? Do I need some kind of license? ARGH!

One step at a time. Self-presentation first. What do I want as my ‘look’? I want to keep it as authentic as possible, and honest. I never want to be lumped in with flashy showmen, nor be labeled a charlatan.

So… I guess I dress as boring me.

Well, that part was simple.

Now for how I want this table to look and serve. Cloth cover, something plain and subdued. I will need to find a fabric seller. A simple embroidery ring for visual effects. Maybe a purple or blue cloth with a brass ring. The ring need not be very big, five or six inches in diameter. My pouch of stones and a wooden bowl were items I already had. I could put the stones in the bowl and my payments in the pouch, or keep the stones in the pouch and use the bowl for payments (seeding it of course to encourage people). How to carry this still eluded me, especially with a walking staff and a stool to consider.

It would take more thinking than I had energy left to do. The aching in my knee forced me to ready for bed and rest it. I could start hunting these other items tomorrow. Then seeking information about licensing and taxes and such. For now… I had a solid concept. Also tomorrow, I resigned myself to hiking out to the Bowyers.


End file.
